Instinct

40. The Sun Never Sets In Heaven

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, settling in a haze over the quiet living room. Brennan was sitting with his left leg elevated on the sofa. It was propped up by a couple of threadbare pillows. A deep, persistent ache had set up residence in his hip an hour ago despite the painkillers he'd taken not four hours ago. The sensation radiated down his leg and up his spine. For that reason, Brennan hadn't done much moving around today. Lydia would probably nag him about that later. Technically, he was supposed to be rehabbing it by taking gentle walks with the help of his cane, but recently Brennan had stopped doing it unless he was badgered.

He could tell that Lydia was worried about him. After the fire, Brennan had tried to keep his spirits up, if only for Lydia and her mother's sake. In constant pain, confined to a hospital bed, and barely able to breathe without medical assistance, Brennan had managed to smile and make jokes for the benefit of others. That had always been his way of dealing with things. Fake it until it became real.

But that charade could only last so long, and it had crumbled in the last couple of weeks.

Brennan could handle hardship. He could handle adversity. So far, he'd been able to handle everything that was thrown at him with a heart buoyant with nothing less than resilience and a sense of humour. Each time he'd had a set back with his recovery since the fire, however, it had been a little harder to find the silver lining in the situation.

With more bills stacking up than they'd ever hope to be able to pay, Brennan started to feel less like a family member and more like a burden. Due to his extensive injuries and his frankly lacking qualifications, he couldn't even contribute. Lydia was working two jobs and her mother had come out of retirement just to make a dent in the payments. It didn't help that the insurance on the house paid out far less than it had actually been worth. The apartment they were living in now was evidence of that.

So Brennan sat at home all day, and had all the time in the world to rest up and think. As it turned out, that was a terrible idea. All alone in the quiet apartment, all he could do was focus on the pain he probably shouldn't still be in to this extent, and listen to the news. He wasn't sure which was worse.

In light of the rising tension and criminal activity associated with werewolves, senate had expedited a bill to force all werewolves to live in the compounds – sorry, "gated communities" that had been in the works since the whole issue started, more than two years back. Brennan was disgusted with the whole thing. The bill had been met with little resistance, but with the UN involved, it was taking a lot longer than Brennan knew the general public wanted.

He knew it was only a matter of time.

"Government officials have encouraged all werewolves to relocate into these secure, purpose-built facilities for the safety of their families and the general public, until progress can be made in dealing with the underlying problems of the conflict that has spread across the nation."

Brennan knew that the ploy would work. Why wouldn't it? Now, werewolves could only dream of security, and when it came to ensuring the safety of their family, many would stop at nothing. That's what had him so torn on the subject. Maybe they would be safer in those compounds, but he also believed that they were being rounded up and corralled into a concentrated space. It was easier to get rid of the root of the problem, after all. They'd be at the mercy of the government if they all gave in.

Switching off the TV, Brennan sat back against the pillows of the couch and sighed. Absently, he pressed his fingertips into the flesh of his thigh, trying to ease the pain without touching the hip itself. As always, it didn't make a difference. By now he should've been off the prescription painkillers, but he wasn't imagining the pain he was still in.